Free At the Behest of the Dead by Timothy W. Long Page A

streetlights.
    The briefly lit image of the entry was just bricks and a fenced in walkway that was meant to keep tourist on a pre- determined path. Spider webs criss-crossed every hallway, and I knew I was in for a night of constantly cleaning my robes. Consorting with creepy crawlers in the night. Think about that, kids, the next time you consider studying witchcraft.
    “So how do we do this?”
    “You try not to get in my way.”
    “Hey, who’s the cop here?”
    “Look, detective, I appreciate the backup, but have you ever faced down something like this? He or she is probably six plus feet tall. It will have razor sharp claws and a snout longer than your forearm. As soon as it senses fear it’ll attack and try to rip your throat out. As soon as it smells blood it’ll go into a frenzy and then it is even harder to stop. You can shoot it and it will cause damage, but not enough. You can empty your gun into its chest and it will smile while it snaps off your face.”
    She swallowed and her grin f ell.
    “I have hollow point loads in my car. I can grab them if you think it will make a difference. See , they enter one way and explode on the way out. Makes a hell of a mess.”
    “Won’t matter. If it is what I think then they won’t slow him down. He’ll be on you in a heartbeat until you stop screaming.”
    She took out her handgun anyway and checked the load. It looked like a big gun. The barrel was a massive hole that she raised and pointed into the dark hallway as she checked the sights. She slipped the magazine out and looked it over. I watched this, not impressed. She was very professional, but leave the lead balls to the amateurs.
    I took a vial out of my pocket and opened it. I held my nose away and then bumped a black globule onto my finger. Created from a potent form of demon spore, the stuff was made to cover a person’s scent, make them take on the smell of their surroundings. It was similar to the stuf f I had used the night before. Hopefully it would work a little more consistently. I rubbed a bit of the noxious stuff into my hair. It stuck and then faded with a hiss. The smell made me want to retch. I should have had this with me last night instead of the junior mint version I’d concocted on the fly.
    “Don’t move.”
    “Keep that shit away from me!” She didn’t know how right she was about the main ingredient.
    “It’ll help hide you from the changer. Trust me on this one.” I leaned over to rub some into her hair. She flinched back , so I took her chin in my hand. The detective’s skin was warm, flushed. I stared into her eyes for a moment. She stared back but I couldn’t read her. A puff of hair had fallen over her forehead so I pushed it back and got some of the spore applied.
    “That is truly foul.” She took my hand in hers and pushed them aside.
    “I’ll help you wash your hair later.”
    “You did see my gun, right?”
    My bandolier held the good stuff. I ran my fingers over the lead tops until I found one with hash marks under a pair of wavy lines. I extracted and studied the vial. It was dark, and when I shook it the potion inside moved languidly, as if it didn’t conform to normal thermodynamics.
    “You get into trouble and you throw this right at the son of a bitch. I don’t care how scared you are. This’ll make his day suck worse than you can imagine.”
    She studied the vial, but it was black glass and didn’t give a hint to its contents. She held it up and then looked at the stopper. Then she ran her fingertips over the wax seal.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I warned.
    She gave me a crooked smile. “Bad juju?”
    “Bad brimstone. Probably melt your brain and then how will I get paid?”
    She slowly moved the bottle away from her body. Her little smirk was also tucked away.
    “Just don’t expose it to air. It’s fine as long as it’s locked up.”
    “But you want me to throw it.”
    “If it’s an emergency, sure. But run, or drop and curl up